DRAGONFLY ~BY PAMELA LEVARI
One quiet evening I sat outside
the sun went down and I started to cry
then I saw a dragonfly
Hovering there, wings so sheer and clear
moving so swiftly
It looked into my eyes with a reflection of being alive
LADY ~BY PAMELA LEVARI
I remember the day you were taken away
That morning, each moment
I held you in a way wishing it didn’t have to be this way
not today
I wrapped my body around you weeping
wishing I could somehow find a way for you to stay
THE BLACK PANTHER AND THE EYES ~BY JOEL KABUYA KUMUAMBA
The Black Panther, a beautiful black,
Defines black history with majestic track.
Your eyes may seem scary, but your heart is happy,
Without you, the wild would be a Disney land, quite snappy.
THE SHOES ~BY MELANIA MENDROFA
Let the room mourn;
The heavy cloud of unheard prayer and tears,
Pain and hope,
Cascaded in this somber afternoon.
CAPE OF GOOD HOPE ~BY JOEL KABUYA
South Africa, the jewel at Africa’s toe,
The land where Madiba’s legacy flows.
Biko’s dreams carved deep in the earth,
Shaping a nation, redefining its worth.
THE REVOLUTIONARY CALLS ~BY MOHAMMAD SAFIQUL ISLAM
I had to take a bullet for giving water
The road is covered in blood.
The joy of the tyrannical queen increases
All the fans lick the booted flood.
WHEN WILL SHE REALIZE ~BY HEDDA JONSSON PIHL MBGY
I have seen her with my own mortal eyes,
Walking around her own castle of dread, when will she realize?
With a bailey made out of her impenetrable fright, with knights standing alert all day and all night, how could she realize?
A CRASH WAS HEARD ~BY HEDDA JONSSON PIHL MBGY
A vase in the middle of a dynamic room is bound to shatter, but if it is in one way, rather than another, would that, in the end, matter?
Would the shattered vase continue to ponder its fate even after someone has left it feeling uncared for and scattered?
IF WINTER COULD SPEAK ~BY ZAINAB MUSTANG MOIZ
The comfort of a breeze
chilling on a cold noon,
stripes of sunshine ,
cutting through the curtains.
The trees embrace solitude ,
before the leaves and flowers ,
bloom to life.
The squirrels munching nuts ,
carved under a big mahogany.
The streets are imprinted ,
by the morning dew drops.
HER BURIAL UNKNOWN ~BY DIYA LEPCHA
She got those gorgeous brown eyes,
So deep that one couldn’t return, even if they tried,
Perhaps it’s due to the precious tears she cries.
Left with none to wipe her eyes.